The Absolution of Humanity
by BrightlyNoire
Summary: Thirty-two persons awaken to an environment alien to each. Now instructed to kill their fellow man in order to elude the horrors of the island itself, the eye of suspicion is cast about by each, ever vigilant for the errs of man. Now but a number within the game itself, the protagonist struggles to become much more than just a statistic. His story now unfolds.
1. Distorted Reality

_They came in numbers of thirty-two.  
_

_We played a game of survival, with so many of us to remain as but dust.  
_

_Never had the sky felt so precious, for it was still blue.  
_

_Even when long had our hearts been closed to this world of rust._

* * *

Once my feet touched the ground, the nylon fabric of the parachute enveloped me, plunging my senses to utter darkness. I could feel my knees buckling from under me. Then it came - the pain. I could not pinpoint where it originated from, though it had obviously come from somewhere within my body. It was sickening to know that I was in pain, overriding any thoughts I had in regards to reality itself. I suddenly felt emptiness. How many moments had I spent in the darkness, unmoving? My whole body seemed to be struggling to coordinate with what thoughts dwelt in my mind. Need I remind myself where I am? I am human, of course, right? I'm frightened - truly. Am I slowly going insane? Who am I exactly? No. That's wrong, and I know it. Though I may know where I am, I know damn well _exactly_ who I am! ...I'm-

Ah!

Wait...

There it is!

That must be the third... Just how many times must I hear my fellow man roar at one another? No, wait. That's wrong. Just "man" wouldn't be so proper to describe us characters now. That man behind the screen referred to us as players. Of course, this isn't a board game; we're playing a rather sick game here, and we're definitely counting down our numbers. How many did that man say there were, anyway? Actually, I don't recall him ever saying anything about our numbers. When another blast erupted in the distance, I immediately recalled the chilling words of the man behind the screen: "In order to go home, you're to kill seven people." We were all given bombs of our own, with BIM designated as their name. We were instructed that each one of us was likely to possess a different sort of BIM. These BIM were our weapons - our tools sharpened for the massacre. If I remembered correctly, all of us, the players, were first situated in what looked to be the back of a cargo plane. I remember the glances we had given to each other. We were all fearful of one another. Our eyes, clouded with mistrust, evidenced it all. And this is the result.

Damn.

They're hunting rather early, aren't they?

I must've spent quite some time, for my next thoughts wondered whether or not I should be leaving. My arms flailed about, but every attempt was met with resistance. It terrified me - truly. Had I already been killed, felled by the chilling intensity of the wind and the ground that now reeked of my body's seeping blood? No, wait. Calm down... That's silly - truly. I'm the main character of my own story after all. Isn't this a common setting, too? In a game, the main character doesn't die unless his death actually means something to the plot. Such thinking was convenient at the time. It was then, while lost in my own thoughts, a gap suddenly formed in front of me, blinding me one second and the next spent illuminating what laid in front of me: an opening. I could see it - right there! Staring through the opening, I could see that life still existed on the other side, and therefore confirming that I still existed. How cowardly of me - truly. I can't have myself blocking it out; I need to escape. Though it must've been but mere moments for when such thoughts clouded my mind, my desire to escape this seemingly perpetual darkness increased tenfold.

The wind howled, tearing through the parachute's nylon fabric. Why had it suddenly become so difficult to stand? My hands stretched forward, desperately clawing to pull myself from under the parachute, and yet my arms buckled underneath the nylon fabric. I could hear the wind howling, taunting. A shiver worked up my spine, and the thought of the darkness blinding me was my motivation. Though I did so awkwardly, I pulled myself forward, every effort met with agony. I could hear the ground rustle from underneath me. Grass, perhaps? Clumsily, I emerged from underneath the parachute, with the occasional tossing of its dark green nylon fabric as it clung to me. A couple of attempts at ripping the nylon fabric had proven futile before, and the wind belittled me as a result, blowing with intensity. With enough effort, the parachute ceased to accompany me, reduced to a pitiful shadow as the wind carried it off.

My head lifted off the ground as my knees planted themselves on the ground. What laid before my eyes was a jungle. It was just as I had thought, or, much rather, just what the man behind the screen had told us players. I had caught glimpses before I had landed, but I knew now where I was situated in. Judging by the intensity of the wind, I must have landed in a small clearing elevated above the jungle surrounding me. A couple of more observations, with the occasional turning of the head, then proved my theory. I could probably move, but I'll be needing to stand first.

However, before I could do anything, the jungle that laid in front of me had burst into searing flames. I wasn't even close but yet I could feel the heat radiating from the jungle's depths. This was not a work of nature but a work of man in nature's stead. It was simple. It was so simple. One of the players had let out a roar and, as a result, they had overdone their actions, burning the nearby trees. I stared in awe. Our tools of murder could do so much. It was shocking - truly. These tools of the massacre, possessed by my foes, were also by my side. It was inside this silver-colored bandolier that held weapons in arm's reach. The thought itself was uncomfortable, though I could do no such thing to discard the source. Even if I had decided that killing wasn't the only way out, I would eventually be hunted down by one of my fellow players. These weapons are now a necessity for my survival. Of course, there were many things that couldn't be avoided. Somehow I knew that I would eventually kill a person, and this was not based on any egocentric thought but rather on an intangible feeling. But, regardless of that, it was now too easy to hurt, too easy to kill, and yet too easy to commit the irreversible.

There were screams filling the air where there were flames residing. They weren't screams of agonizing pain but rather screams of anger. At first, I would definitely think to myself that I had imagined them but yet that certainly wasn't the case in this situation. Somehow, I _knew_ where they were. I could _see_ where they were moving. I could _feel_ their emotions poured into every action. I could _tell_ one of them was suffering yet not from pain but from fear. As for the other person, the one in pursuit, they were sure of their victory. When I attempted to stand, my body staggered backward but yet managed to catch itself as my right foot planted itself in the ground behind me. It was then I realized: While standing about, lost in thought, I was vulnerable. I could die here, in this jungle, where no one would ever _know_ my very character.

A shiver worked its way up my spine.

It was fear that truly motivated me now, guiding my every being to what I perceived as safety. The assessment was over, and continuing would lead to uncertain fate. I could of sworn whatever lay deep in the jungle was approaching fast. I needed to be safe - this I knew. Several seconds had past when another blast roared from a distance. A small step quickly turned into a jog. Instinctively, I turned to my left. I could hear the screams no more but yet I could _feel_ their movements approaching that very clearing from before, transitioning their battle to there. They were still back there, trying to kill each other, and, regardless of their motives, one of them would emerge victorious. But there would be a cost, just as there always will be, for with every person killed, they would be casting what little of humanity they still held within themselves.

When I looked at myself, I felt no different.


	2. Recollection

The events of the cargo plane were still clear in my head, for I had made sure to pay a great deal of attention to every detail. It all began there - this game, the thirty-two of us put into it, and the man behind the screen who gave us the incentive to kill one another.

I remember a hand shaking me awake on that uneventful day. My eyes opened drowsily. In front of me was a bespectacled man, perhaps around my age, kneeling down to my level, carrying a look of concern. I didn't question his sudden appearance at the time, for my eyes trailed to examine my surroundings. It was then that I realized that I did not recognize this place. Where exactly was I? My first thought had been about myself expecting to awaken at a rather early time by an alarm clock. However, now had certainly not been the case. For some inexplicable reason, when taking in the fact that I had awoken, not in the warm comfort of my bed, but in the cold, dank floor of a dimly lit room, I had remain calm.

"Hey. Look into my eyes and focus. Are you feeling feverish, or anything?" The man asked out of concern. My eyes turned toward the direction of the man's calming voice, and as I did so, he slowly pressed the palm of his hand against my forehead, feeling for my temperature. Having not found anything unusual, the man retracted his hand, letting out a sigh as he did so. "It seems like you're fine, just like the others," he said, relieved. The man stood up, his gaze still fixed on me, and then leaned forward, extending a hand in my direction.

"Can you stand up?" he asked.

I nodded and then took the man's hand.

As I stood up, using both the man's hand and the wall behind me for support, I couldn't help but notice just how cold the metal wall was and this strange feeling I had. The thought of us moving quickly came to mind, but before I could voice such a thought, the man spoke once more, catching me off guard.

"Wakahisa Kichiro."

...Wait. What did he just say?

For a couple of moments, neither of us spoke, allowing the awkwardness of our situation to persist. Wakahisa's left hand ran through his short, light brown hair. "...That's my name," he began saying, "you can address me by my first name - I really don't mind - using my family name is a bit too formal for me." The awkwardness must've been infectious, for he seemed less confident than he had been before. Every so often his dark brown eyes glanced in my direction, anticipating an answer, with his hand continuing to grasp at the strands of his hair. Eventually, after having no answer given to him, he broke the silence. "Um, this is the part where you're suppose to tell me your name." Right. Right. My name. "Ah, sorry about that, Waka - I mean - Kichiro-san," I said apologetically, attempting to excuse my lack of conversing, "I'm Mizushima Takumi." The name itself was rather strange, and immediately I found myself regretting it wholly.

"Do you always find yourself deep in thought from time to time, Mizushima-san?" Was that why he hadn't spoken? Thinking back, why was he even checking up on someone he hardly even knew? If I remember correctly, he did mention that he had done the same thing for some of the others. Although I didn't say anything, he took my silence for an answer. "I suppose it really doesn't matter too much," he began to walk away, with his head still turned toward my direction, "just make sure to tell me about anything you find."

Now that I think about it, Wakahisa was rather well-dressed. He conducted himself in a polite manner and such was even more appropriate in regards to his attire: a black and white striped vest, a white long-sleeved collar shirt, with a black tie fastened around the collar, and black pants. I believe his shoes were also black. It's much better than the black suit I'm wearing. I look like a typical salaryman right now compared to the rest of 'em, I bet, and no matter what I do it seems I can't shape this messy, light brown hair of mine. Damn. Just what does this man do to look so good? Should I ask him? No - I shouldn't. Stop being ridiculous - really. That's not what I really want to ask.

When I took a look around, I saw that there were others conversing with one another, some of these conversations centered around trivial matters, but most discussed seriously on our confinement. There were also others who laid unconscious within the room, particularly a woman with long black hair whom several others tried to awaken. Why exactly are we all here in this first place? In this cold, dank prison, there were masked men, armed with stun guns, positioned in front of these walls, eying us with caution, acknowledging that they themselves were in control. I counted eight or ten of them - perhaps I miscounted and there was actually more than that. Was this much really necessary? Speaking to any of them yielded no response, and not even an insult fazed them; a tall, blond-haired, bespectacled, man nearby had confirmed this not too long ago. These men composed themselves as if they were statues, unyielding and dutiful, with the only trace of their humanity seen through every glance of concern for the time displayed on their watches. They were anticipating something - something grand.

It was strange when I now thought about it. All of it was strange. It had started when I had woke up. When my hand was pressed against the metal as I got up, I could've sworn I felt a strong feeling gathering in my palm, as if I was being pushed and pulled at the same time. Were we moving? Perhaps it might've been what they hit us with that I was unable to make sense of this. It was then that I realized that the periods in which the masked men glanced at their watches was growing shorter, signalling that the grand event itself would soon be revealed shortly to us, the audience. I then glanced at my own watch out of anticipation, only to find that it no longer worked.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen!"

A booming voice suddenly spoke, accompanied by a bright light emitted from a monitor to my right. Instinctively, I turned, hoping for answers. "How are you all feeling?" The voice belonged to a rather stocky, older man dressed in overalls over a striped shirt and a cap depicting a giant lizard alongside words I could not make out. His appearance made him seem childish, and yet that was probably what he was striving for. It was through the screen that the man spoke to us, with little to no pause between each word, antagonizing us. "Good? Very good! I am so pleased to see that we have such an agreeable amount from you folks, and I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for agreeing to participate in our game designed just for all of you players!"

Every word was but a small part comprising a rehearsed act, and yet the derisive tone accompanying the man's every word seemed almost natural. This intimidating presence…. Are we truly under this man's control? Is this why the very questions I wanted to voice are still but thoughts?

"Now, let us begin with the instruct-"

"To hell with that!"

A voice bellowing with indignation interjected. His presence had shaken off our engrossment with the man behind the screen's words, prompting many of us, including myself, to direct our attention to a rather stocky, elderly man, with a grey stubble. "I've had enough of your bullshit already! I don't know what plans you have for us, but us humans have dignity, and we-" He never had a chance to finish, for his next moment had himself resisting several of the masked men who had pushed him onto the ground, with one motioning a stun gun toward his temple. Shortly after, the man was convulsing, his unrestrained right hand striking the ground repeatedly. Several screams erupted from within the room, each embodying the fear that dwelt beneath our very flesh. I felt that I had no choice but to stare at the sight in front of me. It took only but a couple of more moments after when he resisted no more. A single shock of electricity had silenced him, rendering him still, like a boxer knocked out cold, and it became clear that any one of us was likely to follow the same fate had we walked that man's path. We were truly under this man's control.

"So rude, and I was about to introduce myself to you all!"

My head slowly turned to meet the tyrant. He looked unimpressed, his eyes staring at us with disdain. "Agh! Why must there always be such people to ruin this event for all of the good ones?" He feigned the appearance of a man who had been unexpectedly disappointed, with his right hand covering both of his eyes, and his head shaking from side to side. Shortly after, a crooked smile slowly formed on his face, giving us the impression that he was about to continue. "Well," he began saying, retracting his hand in the process, "we shouldn't keep you all waiting, right?"

"Well! Let's get started!"

An image suddenly appeared on the screen and then rapidly shrunk to the left side of the screen. The man casually pointed out a plane and directed it toward what looked to be an island. "Ladies and gentlemen! The thirty-two of you are currently being transported via airplane to a certain island in the Pacific, and remember, not a single one of you are subjected to any of the laws of Japan once you step foot on this island, so feel free to indulge yourselves once you get there!" His smile never once faltered as he explained such to us all. "Oh, right! I almost forgot! The game - yes, that's right! - needs to be played first, so you'll have to put off everything else until you finish up with it. Now, I will only explain this once, so pay attention!" His hand slowly rose, producing two objects that were similar to a ball and a cube. "We call these little pocket-sized explosives "BIMs," and you're to battle it out with them. Battle against whom, you ask? Why, with everyone standing around you, of course!"

"Y-You're kidding, right?!"

"There's no way!"

"How are we to..."

When the man behind the screen had begun informing us of our situation, my body became tense. From the moment I had woken, I had thought of my fellow captives as being one in the same. We were all placed in the same situation, confused, with the same questions, and with the same fear for our alien environment. When the man behind the monitor told me then that we were to kill each other, my lips quivered erratically.

_Thump._

I could hear it.

_Thump._

Or much rather...

_Thump._

I could feel it.

Heartbeats pounding from not just my own heart but from my neighbor's and their neighbor's. Whatever trust we had all mustered up between one another was now starting to dissipate. We knew what each one of us were thinking, and that was what we feared the most. Could I really kill these people? I couldn't, right? But then again, could they kill me? At this point, every one of them must be against me. They were all probably thinking along the same lines as I was: 'Isn't this Japan? Nobody could easily get their hands on explosives.' But they _did_ have them. The man behind the screen had confirmed it for us all. Our reality was no longer what we once knew it to be. It was with that thought that all I could think of doing now was to escape immediately.

I wanted out.

_Now._

I turned around, my back facing the man behind the screen. Sweat had begun to form underneath my white-collared shirt, and all I could think about was loosening the black tie around my collar as I lightly pushed a younger man aside, distancing myself from the rest. As I turned back, to catch sight of the man behind the screen, I noticed the same man from earlier, the one who had insulted the masked men, staring back at me, and it was then that I glanced at the piercings on his lips before noticing he had a two more on his left ear. The blond-haired man regarded me suspiciously, but eventually he returned his gaze at the man behind the screen. By the time I had finally calmed myself down, I had already backed myself against the nearby wall at the back of the room, slowly slipping against it toward the floor, crumpled as if I were a mannequin with his strings cut.

Observe everything. Your life depends on it. Don't be like everyone else.

The sudden announcement of this game of killing had been too much for us, and so many of us suddenly found themselves voicing opinions of their own. I stared at the man behind the screen, speechless, for I suddenly felt that absorbing every word this man had spoken would be pivotal to surviving this game. But those were but thoughts, and they most likely never to become much more than that. I had to convince myself that I was calm, and to do so was to give myself the impression that I still had some level of control. This man's words were my salvation. I would survive, right? While everyone else is panicking, I would have to prove to be better, and that's simply because I listened more than those who were voicing their obnoxious opinions.

I glanced around, observing the actions of others.

Most of them were panicking, spouting off what was obvious enough to everyone, seeing the need to repeat information as being of the utmost importance. Their indecisiveness would prove to be a liability, for no longer would we be subjected to laws of society. Those are the ones who might end up dying first.

"You can't just do that, you asshole!" A man yelled.

_But didn't he do just that, asshole?_

Before I knew it, I was already looking for Wakahisa. I needed somebody reliable, and he seemed to fit the character. Chances are, he probably was having the same thoughts as I had. However, when I spotted him, his actions surprised me. He was doing the same damn thing as the rest of them. Repeating information, voicing his own useless opinions…. At least he thought about keeping everyone calm, but by doing that he'll only be brought down by the rest of them. I had expected better from him. Wasn't he like me? It's usually us people, the ones who think more than others, who are much more suited to getting through in this world of ours.

Perhaps we had but a couple of moments too much for ourselves, for the sound of the stun guns screeched throughout the room. There were a couple of people who screamed, and yet there were no bodies convulsing around any of us.

It was a warning.

Finally, the man behind the screen spoke, silencing us. "Don't mind them, they're just setting their stun guns up to the maximum voltage possible. After all, we do need to get through with this as quick as possible. So, no more interruptions!" The screen in front of us showed various images, each giving us details on every type of BIM we could possibly start out with. It was awesome. For instance, there were BIM that chased down foes via propeller, BIM that spat out fire in four directions, and also BIM that relied on a timer to explode, but there were many more than just those three.

While I was busied with remembering what each type did, the man continued. "Lastly, here comes the most important objective to winning this game. Please look at your left hand." As instructed, I did so. It was rather strange. There was a green chip embedded in my left hand. Though I was shocked to see such on my hand, the chip itself had felt almost natural, as if I had had one my whole life. I had a rather difficult time believing that I hadn't noticed such a thing until now. "I believe some of you have already noticed, but there is a small chip implanted in your left hand. Please be aware that any attempt to remove these chips are futile, for it can only be done surgically. Well, there is a easier way… If your heart or lungs stop functioning, then you should be able to remove them quite easily! But really, you probably shouldn't try that. After all, this chip acts as your radar for locating one another."

Apparently, one could do this by focusing a good amount of strength into their middle finger, which would then send a sonar wave to detect the presence of another player. And if we happened to kill another person and could not find their chip(s), then we could contain and project the radar's waves by putting some more strength into the radar, or something along the lines of that. I found all of this rather confusing, especially given the fact that the man explained all this in but a few minutes.

"All right! That seems to be all that needs to be explained here, and we've just arrived at our destination just in time…after we circled it about five times…" His eyes narrowed at us momentarily, sending a shiver down my spine, but they soon relaxed. "Alas, it's time for us to say our goodbyes and drop you all off at your stop." Drop?! "My assistants, please open the back so we may release the cargo!" It was but only a few seconds before we felt the intensity of the wind. I turned around and saw that one of the walls had opened, revealing itself to be the back end of this cargo plane's deck.

Of course, I should've known…

I had but only one glance before my thoughts were interrupted by the screams of my fellow abductees. My head rose with urgency, knowing there were horrors awaiting every one of us. Uncertainty grasped my every thought. I could see it in front of me - everything. One by one, we were being forced off the cargo plane's deck. I was absolutely terrified, to the point where I questioned my situation, fruitlessly scouring for any hope in the dimly lit prison. Should I act? Should I not act? My indecisiveness was perfectly reasonable; after all, I wasn't the only one who had succumbed to fear. Not knowing what course of action I should take, I turned and looked onto the man behind the screen, hoping for any words of advice that he may voice.

But that was all but a thought, a thought that held no significance in this world.

"I wish you all the best of luck, players! Make me proud, all of you!" The man behind the screen waved at us, all while grinning. When he finally stopped, his eyes had suddenly grown serious. The pleasantries were now over. This man, proclaiming to be our host, looked on at us with such disdain in his eyes, eager to watch us cower under his control. A grin slowly formed on his face, prompting me to then realize that the very one who I considered to be my salvation was also the very cause of my damnation. In this small world, he was god. It was foolish of me to think otherwise.

Eventually, one of the masked men took notice of my idleness and walked over to me with a large backpack and a white bandolier. "Take this," he ordered, handing me the bandolier before continuing, "then strap this onto your back, and then move over there to jump." His stun gun motioned in the direction of the cargo plane's mouth. After doing as he asked me to, the man then reminded me of where to move in order to jump. Of course, that was not a suggestion on his part. However, even though I did as he said, I was more focused on the stun gun he held rather than his orders, causing me to not notice the man who then shoved me aside, frightened for his life. As I tried to maintain my balance, I bumped into a nearby woman and fell forward, only to have my fingers stepped on by another person. I screamed in agony. Not a single one of them truly cared for one another, and that was to be expected. As I stood up, grimacing at the pain that erupted from my fingers, I noticed that the black-haired woman, the same one whom those people had been attempting to awaken before, was still unconscious. Well, she's pretty much screwed. I thought little of it after that, for I found the sight of the masked men activating their stun guns behind me intimidating.

No way…

They're really going to stun me!

Before I knew it, I was pushing my way forward, shoving others when I could, and stepping over others just to distance myself further from danger. Karma always finds a way to step over you if you're stepping over others. "Serves them right…." For some reason I was laughing nervously, but I soon realized what I had done. When I got to the end, I stopped and gazed at the island below, taking in the height at which I would be falling from. I stepped back, only to be pushed forward by one of my fellow players. "Stop, please! Don't push me!" I pleaded pathetically. My body hit the cargo plane's deck, with my head facing the sight below. As I tried to get up, someone kicked me in the stomach, prompting me to wince in pain as I rolled off the cargo plane's deck. The wind blew with intensity at the time, and even now I still remember it very clearly. I felt as if I was about to die at that time. However, reality is much more crueler to those who survive.

After some time had passed, I found myself on the island, cowering in fear.

In actuality, I was no different from the rest of my fellow players, for fear had become my motivation on that cargo plane. What am I to myself? I am but only a human, and yet even after contemplating such thoughts repeatedly, I still found myself desperately clinging to the idea of me being better than this - this life.

* * *

A loud noise interrupted my thoughts.

I could hear it - a scream.

It was not a scream that arose from fear but rather one made out of sheer agony, for the very words rippling through the air were but curses. It was a man's voice that I heard screaming incoherently. It involved something between how fate had been cruel and how his leg had been blown off, with the rest impossible for me to make out. Shortly after, the screams stopped. Perhaps he was speaking softly…. However, another explosion came, accompanied by a scream from the man himself.

Silence followed.

From a nearby clearing, I stood, with my eyes fixated on the sea of trees before me. The flames grew, and the smoke rose ever more from them. I had no doubt that that man had been murdered. I was mistaken, however, on that first thought, for murder was now impossible to commit. To commit homicide is to act in opposition of the laws placed upon those belonging to society itself. If we took the words of man behind the screen as truth, then this island, and the very horrors inhabiting it, were not subjected to the laws of Japan. The proper definition for the individual acts partaken within this massacre could only be defined as the killing of another. There were no such things as those who murdered and those who were murdered on this island, for there exists only those who are killed and those who partake in the killing.

In actuality, the definitions of both murder and killing were not synonymous at all.

Society itself does not exist for us on this island, and, after witnessing the scene from before, I highly doubt the social obligations placed upon us would have as much impact as they did before. In Japan, murderers were punished for their crimes, and it was through such punishments that its citizens grew reluctant to commit such acts. Murders based on logic are far more difficult to commit than those based on emotion, and it is the latter that happens more often than the former. Murders based on emotion are not committed after premeditation, which means these culprits committed such acts without any consideration given to the consequences that may befall upon them. If not for the punishments of such crimes, murders based on logic would happen much more frequently than those based on emotion, for it is these very punishments that discourage would-be murderers and leave the more persistent ones to premeditate on eluding the law itself. But now, with no law guiding us, the reluctance of such thoughts that the thirty-two of us possessed would begin to lessen, and the killing of one another would now be left far more simple than elaborate.

Although I was no longer sprinting, I still made sure to distance myself as much as possible - and this had to be done in moderation, for I couldn't afford to waste energy that I may need later in another encounter. The thought of me staying in that clearing from before weighed heavily upon my mind. Fear, again, was my motivation. Once I had gained a better grasp of my surroundings, I was able to think much more clearly. My pace was now more relaxed than it had been before. One could definitely find themselves lost here, in this jungle, and the fact that every tree was seemingly identical to the next wasn't of much help. In time, I began relying more on the ground I was walking on rather than what was laid out in front of me. The fact that the trees all looked too similar to one another reminded me of the humidity in this area. My clothes were already starting to get covered in my sweat. If the nights are this hot, then I definitely would loathe the heat of the days to come.

Exhausted, I plopped myself on the ground at a small clearing and then proceeded to get comfortable. I soon found myself unfastening the black tie from my long white collar shirt hastily, followed by the unbuttoning of the first, second, and third buttons of my shirt.

Now seemed like a good time to get a better grasp of the situation.

First of all, the man behind the screen had deceived us players. He may not have lied to us, but he withheld information from us. Although he told us that the radar detected others, he never said anything about us being detected in the process. When those two people down there were using their radar, I could feel their presence, and I knew they could feel mine. That's why I knew I had to run. It wasn't cowardly of me to run, it was clever of me to. I confirmed the unknown and survived, therefore I now knew better on how to act appropriately if a similar situation arose. If I stayed there, there might've been two people dead instead of one, and I definitely don't think I'd be the one collecting the chips.

Second of all, my BIMs. On the ground to my left laid a white bandolier with black lined around the edges. It was rather heavy for its size, so it was a small comfort knowing I didn't have to carry it right now. Of course, its heaviness seemed reasonable enough, especially considering that we were carrying explosives in each one of these bandoliers. I remember the man behind the monitor showing one to us, so I knew instantly what it was when it was given to me. He called it a "pouch," however. Although shouldn't "bandolier" be the correct word to use since they carry explosives? I suppose it doesn't really matter, so long as the person understands the message that's being conveyed to them.

When the thought of checking the contents arose, I hesitated. For some inexplicable reason I feared that the BIMs might malfunction and explode, even though we were instructed that they could only do so after activating them by pressing their switch. I knew eventually that I would have to use them, so I looked at the contents anyway. However, I made sure to do so slowly. After I confirming my fears to be false, I observed the contents, only to find myself disappointed. Honestly, I was hoping to receive a BIM that was simple to use, like that BIM that follows people around via copter or that BIM that creates a barrier around you, but this…this is just disappointing.

I was carrying those BIMs that exploded via detonator.

What exactly was the name of this BIM, again? It was probably called the "remote control BIM," but as I continued to think about it, I started doubting it even more than before. I really wish I had some confirmation on these sort of things…. Still, I should familiarize myself with my BIM's concept. Shortly after, I found myself having learned a great deal of things about my BIM. I had a total of eight BIMs - and I suspect everyone else had the same amount in order to have a "fair game" of sorts. The remote control BIM had a small number inscribed on the edge of each BIM belonging in the set, and each BIM, of course, had their own number, which numbered from "1" to "8." To make things even more convenient, a small, dim light would appear on one of the eight buttons of my detonator, indicating what BIM number I had activated. Like the BIMs themselves, my detonator had its buttons numbered from "1" to "8." The detonator itself was also styled into a wristband, for the owner's convenience, meaning I didn't have to worry about losing it.

After some time had passed, I figured I had stayed in place for too long, and so, after gathering all my items, I set off. In actuality, I wasn't quite sure how well I might fare in the future, and I didn't have any particular goal other than finding shelter of some sort. However, the fear I had felt from before was now dissipating, and in its stead arrived a newfound confidence that I was in a much more better position that I had been in before. With my bandolier strapped to my waist and the knowledge I had acquired, I found myself much more prepared in this game of survival. As I pondered such thoughts, I quickened my pace through the jungle.

The first morning on this island was now arriving, and it was damn well beautiful.


End file.
